Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

I've been missing home lately.

I cry sometimes because this place that I live is so different. I cook creole food sometimes, and it's either a raging success or an utter failure. And sometimes I get caught talking a little flat, like when I say 'coupon' or 'regular' or 'Andrew.' But I always listen to my New Orleans music. Ask Andrew. Every morning for the past few weeks it's either been Louis Armstrong or Dr. John.

(I think it's especially telling because Andrew is in the other room painting Louisiana iris' and whistling  to "Do What You Wanna" by Rebirth Brass Band. I'm rubbing off on him.)

It's normal to always miss this time of year because of Mardi Gras, but this is the first year that I miss it for a different reason: The Super Bowl! Wow. I don't even believe it still. I remember aggravating my sister with my black and gold shaker in her face saying, "who dat, who dat, who dat say dey gon beat dem Saints?" Well they were the 'Aint's' then, but it's The Saints now, baby!

And I'll take my family's word for it that "...everything is so crazy down here..." and "...the local news consists of virtually only Saints coverage..."

One of these days we'll get closer to home. But in the meantime, my heart is still there.

Yes, Louis (and Harry) I do 'know what it means to miss New Orleans.'